


grey clouds/lightning strike

by abramdeath



Series: call it drugs/call it caffeine [1]
Category: Green Creek Series - T.J. Klune
Genre: M/M, its a witch coffee shop au that Kind Of got away from me, u m m n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abramdeath/pseuds/abramdeath
Summary: Mark rubs at the stubble on his jaw and says, "My family is coming back to town."Ox blinks. He's not entirely sure the significance of that, other than mentioning Mark's family makes Gordo instantly irate and Mark on edge. He's pretty sure he's heard them arguing about someone named Thomas, before it spiraled back to Gordo's father, and then Mark wasn't allowed past the cafe wards for a week.Not entirely sure how to broach the touchiness of the subject, Ox nods and asks, "So?""They're good people," Mark says quickly. "There's just a lot of old family drama. It's complicated.""Old family drama," Ox parrots back. "Sounds like a running theme in our lives. We'll be fine."ox, gordo, and robbie are witches that work at gordo's cafe, and the bennetts are still werewolves.





	grey clouds/lightning strike

**Author's Note:**

> for max, who deserves the world and more.

Grey clouds are lining the skies and Ox's mind when he wakes up, and he can't tell if he's actually awake or not. He's staring at a cloud above him, rolling with brief flashes of lightning and a quiet burst of thunder. He swears he can see something inside the cloud looking at him, and he squints, trying to discern the dream creature, when thunder claps loud and water pours down onto his face. 

He coughs and sits up immediately, ignoring the headache that's begging him to lay back down, even if his bed is soaking fucking wet. There's pretty much only one person to blame for this, with Gordo being the epitome of magical self control and Mark not having an ounce of magical talent in his body. Other than the whole wolf thing. 

"Robbie!" he shouts as loud and threatening as he can. 

He hears a startled shriek from the next room over and groans loudly. Robbie isn't supposed to be practicing magic when Gordo isn't at the apartment since Ox doesn't really care enough about the nuances of magic to teach. He works more in broad strokes, he thinks as the tattoos flowing across his arm glow when he disperses the rain cloud. Gordo is the little detailed brush and the painter at the same time. Or something like that. He isn't really good with metaphors. 

Robbie is in the kitchen when Ox drags himself out of the bedroom, not bothered to change his dripping pajamas until he's had coffee first. 

"I'm sorry!" Robbie immediately says. Ox turns a flat stare at him as he searches the kitchen for his mug. "I am! I was just— well, I wanted to water the plants but I couldn't find the spray bottle anywhere so I figured, hey, I'm supposed to be the head of a line of strong-blooded witches, I can sprinkle some water on these bitches, and then there was a rain cloud and—" 

"I know. I was there for that part," Ox cuts him off, and sighs when Robbie withers into a human puddle of distress. He hasn't known Robbie for very long, but six months ago he showed up at Gordo's cafe with a newly discovered magical talent and a dead parent, making him the head of his family. Ox never cared for the political bullshit that witches held into the highest regard, but he knew how significant it was to be the head of your family. Gordo had stared Robbie down, who stared back just as hard even though he had dried tear tracks on his cheek and his hands were shaking, and then he let him in and gave him a job. Ox looks at Robbie who’s wiping bits of rainwater from his glasses and groans a little. “It’s fine, Robbie. Just. Stop practicing when Gordo isn’t here.” 

Robbie nods at him, and then disappears into his room, and he’s no doubt ignoring what Ox just said andexperimenting  with the small tattoo Gordo had taken him to get so that he could practice his magic output. Not that it was doing any good, since half of the apartment was still wet from the thunderstorm Robbie had set off earlier. 

Ox wonders if he had been that bad when he apprenticed under Gordo. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to cause Gordo to have to replace his couch, unlike five magical mishaps Robbie’s had. He knows Robbie will get there eventually— he has the talent, and the blood to have a lot of potential with his magic. His control is in the drain, and wrapped up in three bundles of anxiety, but he’ll get there. Eventually. Ox hopes it soon, because he’s tired of brainstorming late with Mark so that they can take some of the bullshit Gordo deals with off of his plate. 

Ox sighs as he finally slumps against the counter, drinking a pretty mediocre cup of coffee. There’s still a headache pounding at the back of his skull, and he knows it’s going to steadily get worse until it finally blooms into a premonition of some sorts. 

He squints in distaste at a hole in the hall. Most witches grow out of their premonitions. Ox, from the day his father left him and his mother in a too-still-too-dusty house and discovered that he had a magical talent, had vivid and violent visions that forewarned him of the prosaic and uncanny. He had once suffered a migraine bad enough to have him hospitalized that forewarned one of his plants dying, and another time he had a short fit of nausea that had given him barely enough time to call the fire department and insist that there was about to be a massive forest fire and a student camping trip was going to be caught in it. Everyone had gotten out with nothing more than smoke inhalation, and it’s one of the bigger reasons he doesn’t resent living with having the equivalent of predictive text on his life. 

Ox looks to the plants lining the windowsills, that somehow hadn’t been touched by Robbie’s rain cloud, feeling the faint remnants of his sudden wake up and the looming premonition making everything feel distant and foggy. He breathes in, clutching the mug in his hands. He breathes out, and looks down at his arms, at the tattoos he’s been slowly collecting since he turned sixteen and Gordo finally let him. There’s a raven on his bicep with designs carved in its feathers, charged with protection magic. Gordo had given him a flat look when he saw it, but then had turned around and pulled his shirt up to reveal an ox skull on his upper back. It was weathered and had tendrils of smoke curling from the nostrils. 

“I got this when you started apprenticing with me,” Gordo had told him, before it started glowing with a magic that Ox felt attracted to. It was smoke breaks behind the cafe, coffee and smoke scents clinging to their clothes, it was solace in one of the only people who understood you. It was a tether, apparently. “We need them,” Gordo had told him. “Without a tether, you lose yourself. Magic makes everything stronger. After Mark had left, I hadn’t had one,” he admits reluctantly, face twisted and voice gruff. “Tethering to you was kind of an accident, but it’s probably a good thing that it happened. Learning magic without a tether is dangerous.” 

Ox could tell there was more to the story, and probably to tethers, and he hadn’t thought it was important. If it had been, Gordo would’ve shared it in the first place, so he just nodded. 

He opens his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them in memory, and sees Mark standing in the kitchen in front of him. 

“Hey,” he says, smiling a little. “Back with us now?” 

Ox blinks a little but nods. He does that, sometimes. Drifting while he’s awake. Gordo thinks it’s because of the whole premonition business but Ox isn’t so sure. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asks, finally pushing off the wall and grimacing at his still-wet clothes. 

Mark laughs at whatever he sees on his face and gestures to the apartment. “Just wondering what the hell happened here. Why is everything wet?” 

Ox groans. “Robbie. Gordo needs a new couch again. And a new apprentice.” 

Mark huffs in amusement and jumps up to sit on the counter. He taps his fingers against the countertop, oddly fidgety. “Hey, so. I need to talk to you about something.” 

Ox stops pulling at the collar of his shirt and nods, walking over to the sink next to Mark to rinse out his mug. “Sure.” 

Mark is quiet for a moment, jaw shifting as he turns over what he’s going to say. Ox waits him out and watches soap bubbles pop at the bottom his mug. 

Mark rubs at the stubble on his jaw and says, "My family is coming back to town."

Ox blinks. He's not entirely sure the significance of that, other than mentioning Mark's family makes Gordo instantly irate and Mark on edge. He's pretty sure he's heard them arguing about someone named Thomas, before it spiraled back to Gordo's father, and then Mark wasn't allowed past the cafe wards for a week.

Not entirely sure how to broach the touchiness of the subject, Ox nods and asks, "So?"

"They're good people," Mark says quickly. "There's just a lot of old family drama. It's complicated."

"Old family drama," Ox parrots back. "Sounds like a running theme in our lives. We'll be fine. How's Gordo?"

Mark scowls, and Ox suddenly notices how his scruff is more grown than usual, the bags under his eyes, his rumpled clothes. "He's known for a few days now. He's mostly fine about it now, other than the constant bad mood and magic flare-ups."

Ox winces. If Gordo is lashing out with magic, this must be really stressing him out. Ox nods despite his trepidition and resolves to talk to Gordo about it later.

Mark groans under his breath and slides off the counter as his phone buzzes. "Speak of the devil. One of my nephews is calling, I'm gonna--" he gestures vaguely as he walks to his and Gordo's bedroom, answering the phone to someone named Carter.

Old family drama, Ox thinks. He hopes it isn't too messy, but he doubts it will be anything but when a premonition seems to be lining up with their arrival in town. He perishes the thought and grabs his apron for the cafe on his way out the door, tattoos flaring a little as he dries his clothes instead of changing them since he's pretty sure he's already late for his shift at Gordo's.

Outside, the clouds darken and rumble with distant thunder. Isn't that just fucking ominous, Ox groans, and gets soaked by rain for the second time that day. 

 

* * *

Ox is absolutely bored out of his mind a few days later, a migraine clinging to the back of his skull and slowly creating a tension band, as he waits for Robbie to finally clock into work. He wants to go on his break and take a smoke or something to get rid of all his anxious energy. Gordo's bad mood over the past few days is catching onto him and his weird, smothering dreams haven't been helping. He wishes the premonition would just happen already instead giving him mysterious omens and weird vibes from practically everything. 

The door jingles, and Ox looks up, ready to tear into Robbie for whatever magical incident has him ten minutes late to a job he lives two blocks away from, and instead is met with a man with a mess of blonde hair and storm blue eyes. His foot instantly slips on a wet cloth on the floor and his head smacks loudly into the espresso machine behind him. He curses, catches himself on the counter, and looks up to see the man very obviously holding back a laugh and trying to look concerned instead. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice strained with barely held amusement. 

Ox feels his face go warm, and says, “Uh, yes-- I'm-- hi, welcome to Gordo’s.”

The man grins at him. “Hi. It smells amazing in here, did you know that?” he asks, nose twitching as he apparently just sniffs the air. Ox has seen weirder in this shop alone so he doesn't pay much attention to it and instead asks, “Does it?” 

“Yeah!” the man says, turning toward him with another smile that strikes lightning through Ox's heart. “I don't know— there's just something about it. I had to come in here.”

Ox takes an inquisitory sniff at the air. All he smells is coffee grounds and the coconut pastries Jessie had made earlier. He says as much and the man groans like he's frustrated at Ox's apparent lack of sniffing skills. 

"No, it's like... something bigger. You know?" He steps closer to the counter Ox is at and pauses, face going contemplative. "I think that it's you? Huh. You smell really good, has anyone ever told you that? It's like, something woodsy and minty and just nice. Like, candy canes and pinecones and epic and awesome. Yeah.” 

His grin is blinding and all Ox can do is nod in response. He smells good? Oh god, his face is heating up and the lights are bright and he can feel magic start coursing into one of his tattoos, but he takes a deep breath and brushes it all off. 

Ox coughs, blushes harder, and forces himself not to avert his eyes. “Um,” he says, because no one has ever called him eloquent and that’s not going to start now. “What can I get you?” 

The man blinks, and then looks up at the menu, seemingly deep in thought. He looks over their pastries, the coffee, and stops over the more unique offers that Gordo’s has. 

His mouth quirks up, and he says in a voice that sounds horribly filthy, “Read my tea leaves?” 

How did he manage to make something so banal sound so absolutely dirty, Ox doesn’t know, but he thinks it has something to do with his pretty mouth and sharp canines, and Ox has to forcefully veer his mind away from pretty mouths and all the sorts of things you can do with them. 

“Sure,” he agrees, partly because it’s his job and partly because he’s a little curious about what may lie in this mans future (and if maybe he’s lying down with him). 

Ox goes toward their shelves of tea and slyly grabs their most expensive leaves, absolutely planning to charge it as normal and never ever tell Gordo that he’s giving a customer their rare leaves because he has a pretty mouth. A really pretty mouth. And really nice eyes, and Ox kind of wants to count the freckles on his face and see if he has freckles anywhere else and— 

He curses as he spills hot water across his hand, sucking his teeth in so he doesn’t attract any concern. He casts a glance back at the man and sees him staring, eyes alert and fixed on him. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” he yells in a bit too shrill of a tone considering it’s hardly a burn and Ox barely reacted to it. He realizes this a second later and his face burns a little, even as he’s leaning over the counter to get a better look at Ox’s hand. 

Ox hides his amusement and nods, holding his reddened hand up so the man can confirm. He stares intensely at it, fingers twitching against the counter like he wants to grab Ox’s fingers and examine the lines etched into his palm. Or maybe he’s projecting, because Ox kind of really could stare at his hands for hours. One of his fingers is crooked, like it was broken before, and there’s a freckle nestled between two knuckles. 

Ox realizes he’s staring and turns back toward the steeped tea, bringing over to the man. 

“Uh,” he starts. “Name?” 

“Oh!” the man says like it hadn’t occurred to him. “Joe. What’s your name, cowboy?” 

Cowboy, he thinks a little incredulously, face absolutely going up in flames as he simultaneously wonders if that’s a compliment and remembers the time he walked in on Mark and Gordo when they were wearing cowboy hats and leather boots and wants to scrub everything out his mind. “Yeehaw,” he says quietly to himself anyways, and then, “Ox.” 

Joe looks up at him, pretty lashes framing pretty eyes blinking prettily, and  _wow_ , does he need a new vocabulary. “Ox,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue. He grins slowly. “Ox, Ox, Ox. I like it.” 

They stare at each other, and Ox swears his sees Joe’s eyes flashing. Or maybe it’s just the light shining in them. He doesn’t really know or care, because all of Joe’s attention is centered on him and he can feel himself burning from the inside out. Vaguely, he thinks that this is  _real_. This isn’t a dream, which is a shocking enough thought he almost stops looking at Joe. Ox has felt stuck in a dream for most of his life, and especially since his mother died. But Joe looks at him, blue eyes too understanding and too real and too  _much_ , and he feels real. 

“So, how about that reading?” Joe asks, and Ox remembers he’s still on the clock. No eye-fucking till his shift is over, he thinks wryly, since he’s told that to Gordo about half a million times. 

He pushes the cup of tea toward Joe. “Drink.” 

Joe looks out the window of the cafe as he leisurely sips on the tea, making a small and approving noise at the taste. Ox glances toward the window too, and grimaces a little at the storm clouds that have been stuck in the sky. He hopes the storm breaks soon. The weather messes with his head too much, and it makes Gordo grumpy and Robbie jumpy, which in turn makes Gordo even  _more_  grumpy, until Mark intervenes and the tension breaks. They have an understanding, he thinks with a little appreciation. The four of them fell into place easily, shifting and molding with each other like gears. Ox has never had many friends in his life, but he knows with a certainty that they’re his best friends. His brothers. 

Joe clears his throat a little, and Ox turns to him, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Joe tips the empty cup toward him, and Ox grabs it carefully as he looks over the remaining leaves. 

When he looks over the leaves, he sees  _danger_. He sees  _heartache_ , he sees  _lust_ and  _love_  and  _redgreenpurpleorangered_ , he sees a black wolf. 

He feels something tingling at the back of his neck. A warning. The feeling before lightning strikes. It settles at the top of his spine, not unalike what he usually feels before a premonition. Or when something bad is going to happen. Or, as it so often is, both. 

“Uh,” he says, drawn out and concerned because he was really starting to feel attached to Joe in the short time they’ve known each other and none of this is reading over very well. This man is dangerous, he thinks. He will bring a tornado with him everywhere he goes. 

“What does it say?” Joe asks excitedly, leaning over the counter as if he could divine the leaves any better than he could when he was squinting suspiciously into his cup. 

“Mm,” Ox says, because he’s not entirely sure how to explain the dual wakes of avidity and ruin in his future. “I see a black wolf.” 

He’s about to bring out some Harry Potter references to explain what exactly that means when a grin ravishes Joe’s face. 

“Oh, Ox,” he says, the look in his eyes sending a dark thrill through Ox’s veins. “I  _like_  you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A WEEKS LATE AND ONLY A PART OF WHAT I HAD PLANNED FOR THIS I AM SO SORRY DEAR GOD.  
> for real, the more i wrote this, the more it got away from me and i only wrote an eighth of what i had planned :^) i hope it's not horrible or ooc, there were a lot of false starts and stops and rewriting scenes and i'm not sure how it ended up 
> 
> max i hope u like it!!!!!!!!!!! i love you so much and appreciate everything you do <3  
> follow me on tumblr @abramdeath, my wolfsong tumblr @oxsfootfetish, and please follow and check out and send love to max @designnerds !!!


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